


Slytherin Quidditch Robes

by Rachiepoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hate Sex, Locker Room, M/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Rough Sex, Slytherin Quidditch Robes, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachiepoo/pseuds/Rachiepoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you wearing?” Malfoy asked in alarm before he could even help himself.  Surely he should have asked what the other man was doing in his locker room in the first place--but that train of thought quickly vanished when he saw Harry bloody Potter sitting languidly on the bench in front of his locker wearing nothing--nothing at all but <i>his</i> fucking Slytherin Quidditch robes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slytherin Quidditch Robes

It was like any other end to a perfect Quidditch game. His team was neck and neck with the other and tensions were high. This was the game to decide who would go on to the championship and he wanted nothing more. He wanted to prove himself--prove everyone--that yes, he could do this. 

And he had. The snitch finally appeared after a grueling hour of dodging bludgers, the rival team whirling by, and the jeers from the crowd. The moment the light caught on the brilliant golden surface of that illusive little ball he had it on lock down. It was his, this time, and no one was going to take it away from him. 

It was almost too easy. Well really, he hadn’t encountered near the challenge he had prior years. The other seeker wasn’t nearly as competent--more clumsy than anything else. He wondered how the girl even managed to get selected on. Perhaps she had her own connections. It was no secret that the selection committee was a little biased and corrupt. 

Either way, his inadequate opponent hadn’t diminished the absolute thrill he felt when the ball flew into his hands. The crowd erupted into a frenzy as the announcer shouted over them all, “He’s ACTUALLY done it! He’s got the snitch!” Then there were blinding flashes as people frantically scrambled to capture the moment and all he wanted to do was get out of there.

So he flew up higher. He went so high the stadium vanished from his sight through the clouds. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the crisp cool air. The sounds of the pitch but just a delightful hum in the distance. His heart was still racing, his breathing coming out in ragged breaths. He grinned lazily, twirling in loose hoops, as he rode out the feeling of adrenaline. In that moment he forgot the war, forgot who he was, forgot what he was expected to do, and he just flew. It was just him and the clouds tickling his feet--and he wanted to stay up there forever if he could.

There was a loud thrumming noise. It broke his thoughts and he looked up in its direction. A Muggle airplane was cutting through the clouds at a rapid pace, quickly making its way to where he was. Without a second thought, he dived underneath the clouds and hoped he hadn’t been spotted. He kept with his descent, hoping that if anyone had seen him that they would think he was merely just a bird. 

The crowd had dispersed with only a few people trailing along behind. Witches and wizards were traveling in packs to their various forms of travel, and the popping noise of apparation was almost deafening. He figured now would be a good time to get down and head for the locker rooms. If anyone wanted a picture for the paper or an interview he’d politely decline like he had grown accustom to. 

His fellow teammates were grouped out in the hall in front of the locker room. Understandably, they were extremely boisterous and chugging Firewhiskey straight out of the bottle. Their beater, lightweight Williams, was already drunk and stumbling around with his duffle bag. A goofy grin was plastered across his face when he noticed him. “Hey, we’re going back to Wood’s to celebrate. You coming?” 

Shaking his head, he pulled open the door to the locker room. “No, you guys go on ahead. I’m going to get a shower. Maybe I’ll see you later.” 

He hadn’t realized how much his muscles ached till he was standing under the warm rush of water. He let out a small groan of pleasure, resting his head against the wall of the shower. With his eyes closed, his mind began to wander to years past. Memories flashed before his mind: the first time he flew at Hogwarts, the first Quidditch game he ever played. Then there was the other Seeker and oh how he loathed him. Their eyes would flash across the field, and he could feel his burning stare deep within his bones. 

If looks could kill, he would have died a hundred times over. However, when those eyes bore into his with such a furious intensity--he honestly never felt more alive. 

Turning off the water, he wrapped a towel loose around his waist. He padded lightly over to his locker and something caught his eye. He looked up. He froze.

“Good game Malfoy,” the boy smirked. 

No, not a boy. This was a man. A man with black hair jutting out at harsh angles. He had stubble littered along his face and down his neck--where a glorious Adam’s apple bobbed slowly, teasingly. His eyes were burning in such a green potency, it felt as if a bludger had knocked him right in the stomach. He couldn’t hold that gaze for long, and looked down. And that’s when he noticed it. 

“What are you wearing?” Malfoy asked in alarm before he could even help himself. Surely he should have asked what the other man was doing in his locker room in the first place--but that train of thought quickly vanished when he saw Harry bloody Potter sitting languidly on the bench in front of his locker wearing nothing--nothing at all but _his_ fucking Slytherin Quidditch robes. 

Potter grinned wickedly, uncrossing his legs slowly. The green fabric shifted and he caught a glimpse of his gloriously toned bronze thighs. He admired the dip of muscle along his legs--and was it his imagination or did Potter just flex them? God, Malfoy really wanted those legs--preferably wrapped around him, spreading wide and crushing his back. A chuckle broke his thoughts and he snapped his head up. 

“Oh, you don’t like it?” The man pouted, in such a way it should have been a crime. Malfoy felt himself harden just from those pursed lips alone. “I always heard green suited me. Don’t you think so?” Those infuriating eyes roamed over Malfoy, settling on the tent that had formed underneath his towel. Potter’s grin widened. 

He had seen that grin more than enough times that Malfoy even wanted to admit. It reminded him of glancing across the Great Hall year after year and hearing Gryffindor winning the house cup. Every end of term feast Potter had that stupid grin. And every end of term Malfoy wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid smile off his irritating face. He hated that smile. He hated it more right now, more than anything. Potters _don’t_ smile at Malfoys. 

His next move was automatic. He rushed forward and grabbed Potter by the front of his robes and slammed him against the locker. Malfoy landed him a swift punch right in the stomach and he was extremely pleased to hear the grunt escape the man’s lips. Potter was doubled over, grimacing, and Malfoy yanked him by the hair to look him right in the face. The smile was gone and replaced with a look of murder. Malfoy’s cock twitched.

In the next moment, Potter spat in Malfoy’s face. Malfoy responded by a quick jab to his stupid stubbly chiseled jaw. With a hand still in that mess of hair, he pounded Potter’s head against the wall for good measure. The sickening sound of his head cracking was wonderful. He admired his handiwork and noticed with glee that the man had bit on his lip, bursting open with blood.

“You like this--don’t you?” Potter growled out, red pooling out the side of his mouth. A second later and he wrapped his hand around Malfoy’s aching cock and he tugged. He couldn’t control the gasp that escaped at the sheer contact of Potter touching him _there_ \--and since when did Malfoy drop his towel? He hadn’t even realized, having been too busy beating the shit out of him. 

Potter’s fingers began to stroke him and a whole other feeling of pleasure raked over him. He felt all the blood rush south pulling into his groin and Malfoy’s heartbeat jammed on erratically. Before he could stop it, a low moan mumbled deep in his throat and Malfoy instantly hated it. He hated this feeling, he hated Potter, and he absolutely loathed how he was slowly losing control of the situation. “Fuck you, Potter,” barked Malfoy, with every ounce of hatred burning into those words. 

There was that horrendous smile again, this time accompanied with blood smudged across his perfect teeth and the swollen lip that stretched even more under the gesture. “Do it then,” Potter said, his annoying emerald eyes sparkling. Those eyes glowed even more so and Malfoy blamed it on the fucking Slytherin robe clutched in his grasp. Then Potter flicked a finger teasingly along the tip of his length, and Malfoy didn’t need to be told twice.

Roughly, he swung Potter around and slammed him against the locker again. The crunching sound of Potter’s glasses breaking was heard as his face made contact with the wall. Malfoy smirked, hiking up his green robe. His arse was tan, toned, and flawlessly shaped. Malfoy hated how perfect it looked and he gripped his cheeks hard, digging his fingers in deep. Potter cried out and he hoped he left bruises. 

Spreading him apart, Malfoy noticed his skin was already slicked over. Absentmindedly Malfoy wondered if Potter had been preparing himself--preparing for this. Had the man been fingering himself all along, just waiting for him to get out of the shower? The little fucker. Part of Malfoy wanted to just step back and walk away, leaving Potter ready and wanting. Then he would have won one over on the other man once and for all.

“Scared, Malfoy?” Potter asked, his voice slightly muffled against the wall. 

“You wish.” Not a second later and he thrusted forward, plunging his hard thick cock into Potter’s greased hole. Even with the lube, there was still resistance as Malfoy dug deeper into the man without any mercy. At last, he was completely within Potter and his tight walls were suffocating. Malfoy pulled out rapidly and repeated the action, feeling Potter practically rip apart underneath him.

He gripped Potter hard along his waist, his fingernails digging into his skin and leaving marks. Potter kept trying to move away from the wall in order to get a hand underneath himself. Malfoy wouldn’t let him, though. For some reason, Malfoy didn’t want Potter to get off--at least not until Malfoy said he could. The thrill of having complete control over Potter was almost too much for Malfoy. This control, this submission, was all Malfoy ever wanted. He felt drunk with the power.

Malfoy fucked him so hard that Potter’s head kept banging against the wall. The sight was beautiful, really. He hoped the prick would get a broken nose after they were finished. But despite that, Potter moaned with each push, his arse meeting eagerly with each thrust. Malfoy chuckled above him and taunted, “You like this, don’t you? You little slut.” 

“Fuck,” gasped out Potter. Then Malfoy pulled out completely again and a whine could be heard. It was music to Malfoy’s ears. He knew what he wanted to do next.

Fingering Potter was surprisingly fun. He twirled and scissored them deep inside and Potter was thrashing about like crazy. Eventually he found his prostate and jabbed it. Potter screamed. Malfoy grinned. He kept at it and Potter wailed. “God…Malfoy…I’m going to…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” growled Malfoy into his ear. He promptly pulled out his fingers, biting Potter along his neck. Potter shuddered. He reached down and clamped around Potter’s balls, feeling them heavy and full in his hands. “You aren’t…until I say you can.” 

He waited a minute, marveling at the idea that he could crush the man’s balls right now. But even Malfoy knew that would probably be going a step too far, and he really wanted to keep fucking him. When it was enough, he let go and breached Potter again. He heard the man sigh in pleasure like a whore. Malfoy slapped the side of his arse in response, the sound echoing throughout the room. 

Malfoy quickened his pace and could feel the pressure slowly starting to build up. Something wasn’t right though. He pulled Potter by the robes again, this time turning around and shoving him onto the bench. Potter was draped over the bench, his arse perched high up in the air. There was a faint red outline of Malfoy’s hand imprinted on his left cheek. The mark needed to be darker, so Malfoy spanked him again with more force. Potter whimpered. Malfoy grinned wider. 

This new position gave Malfoy what he was craving all along. His thick cock plunged even deeper and this time he couldn’t help the moan that came out of his lips. Potter was panting under him, his insides clenching tight. He saw Potter reach for his own prick, and Malfoy batted his hand away. He cried out, desperately needing the touch. “P-please,” he begged, breathless. 

Malfoy could have dragged on the torture, but he could feel how close he was getting--and like hell he was going to come before Potter did. He grabbed a hold of Potter himself and proceeded to wank him furiously. One or two pumps was all it took, and Potter was spilling out helplessly all over the bench. Potter was crying out so loud it was a wonder if anyone didn’t hear. His whole body shivered, his muscles constricting so tight around Malfoy. He couldn’t take it anymore and with a grunt he came as well, filling Potter completely full. 

Slowly he pulled out, hearing Potter wince. He slapped his ass for one last good measure before he turned back to his locker. He heard Potter slump on the bench still breathing heavily. “Wow…” was all Potter managed to say. 

Slipping his trousers on, he saw Potter’s broken glasses on the floor. He picked them up, twirling them through his fingers. He debated crushing them further but stopped when Potter’s gazed landed on him. “Are they broken?” he asked. Malfoy nodded and then Potter sighed. “I can never fix them right when I can’t see,” he explained.

He didn’t know what possessed him to do what he did next, but before he knew it he was slipping the glasses back on Potter. He pulled out his wand out of his pocket and lifted Potter’s face, his hand cupping the man’s bruised cheek. Malfoy aimed and cast a quick _Repairo_ and the glasses were perfect once more. Unconsciously he brushed a thumb along his face, and Potter’s eyes widened from the contact. Malfoy pulled his hand back quickly as if it was on fire. 

Turning away from Potter, he managed to slip on his dress shirt. Malfoy could feel the other man’s eyes burning into his back, examining him. He hated Potter looking at him so critically, trying to read through all the feelings Malfoy was trying his best to ignore. He couldn’t take it for long, turned on his heel, and barked at Potter, “What is it?” 

Potter was sitting on the bench now, his legs spread and the Quidditch robe hanging on by a single thread. Malfoy saw the bruises on his hips, cheek, neck, and nose. The blood from his lip had stopped but was still flushed and swollen. He hated how good Potter looked, even in this state. Maybe he should punch him again…

“It was a good game, Malfoy.” And he honestly didn’t know if Potter was talking Quidditch or what. But then the man added, “That seeker didn’t stand a chance though, really.” 

“Yeah, not like you though,” Malfoy said, and then hated himself for saying it. Sure, it was common knowledge that Potter was the only challenge he ever had on the field--but he really didn’t want to admit to such things. Perhaps fucking Potter was a bad idea, it made him say and do stupid things. 

Potter stole his smirk. It was an expression that looked perfect on Malfoy and strange on him. His next words were, “Think you’ll beat the Tornadoes next week?” 

He chuckled. “Please, Potter. Their seeker is a has-been. The man should have retired ages ago.” 

“Oh well, funny that you should mention that,” Potter said, standing up from the bench. “He has retired.” Malfoy’s eyes widened in alarm as Potter took step after step closer towards him. He could feel Potter’s breath on his face, he was standing so close. Potter leaned over and whispered in Malfoy’s ear, “And I’m their new seeker. Think you’ll be able to beat me?” 

“Well Potter, I think I just did,” he said matter-of-factly. Malfoy laughed, trying to ignore the nerves he felt with Potter’s lips on his skin. 

Potter smiled that god-awful smile again. Malfoy’s cock twitched traitorously. “Right, of course,” Green eyes looked down at his growing erection again. Potter’s smile widened.

How Malfoy _hated_ that smile.


End file.
